Modern Romanticism

Something leaves wounds open

Like the cracks in the soil, to make the rivers.

Something forms time,

Though it will not come.

Something creates sounds for listener's ears,

Though I am deaf.

With all of my pain,

I hold my future, in rotting hands.

I speak with brittle words,

Reciting delicate verses.

I write down the memories of something timeless

That did come,

Full of sounds,

I did hear,

Coming through as tears,

I did feel, breaking the dams of my eyelids.

Leave the lakes to form,

I will do,

In remembrance of you.

Why was it so simple to dream in the night

Of a face dressed in white?

Of a face now marred by tears,

It is hers, in the light.

It is now so hard

To dream in the day.